


This Property is Condemned

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Collars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-28
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke can’t figure out what Sylar’s plan is, but he’s willing to go along with it if it means getting what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Property is Condemned

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://pupnamedpeter.livejournal.com/profile)[**pupnamedpeter**](http://pupnamedpeter.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://heroes-exchange.livejournal.com/profile)[**heroes_exchange**](http://heroes-exchange.livejournal.com/) Title from the Tennessee Williams play. Thanks to [](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/profile)[**jaune_chat**](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/) for betaing.  
>  Warning: non-graphic mention of underage sexual abuse by a third party, violence

Luke didn’t know what Sylar had said or done to the bouncer to get him in. There was no way anyone would believe he was twenty-one, especially dressed like this: black leather pants tight enough to announce his religion, a clingy black t-shirt, black eyeliner, thick mascara, dark red lipstick, and plain black leather cuffs at his wrists. No collar. Luke’s black and silver collar was in Sylar’s pocket and Sylar was… somewhere. Luke had turned heads when Sylar had brought him into the club, and now that Luke was alone on the dance floor, men were looking at him like he was a plump, juicy chicken in a ring of hungry foxes.

  
“Have fun,” Sylar had said when he unbuckled Luke’s collar. “Be good.”

  
“What exactly do you want me to do?” Luke had asked.

  
Sylar had smiled cruelly. “You’re always telling me you’re so worldly-wise. You figure it out.” He’d pocketed the collar and walked away.

  
Now Luke was alone. He hated being alone.

  
Someone bumped into him from behind. He turned around, startled and carefully holding his power in check, to see an older man with close-cropped gray hair and a moustache. He was unashamedly leering at Luke.

  
Luke suppressed a shudder. This man reminded him greatly of his Little League coach. If his mother ever wondered about his aversion to sports after that summer, she never asked. In any case, this guy would never have had a chance, even if Luke hadn’t been here with Sylar. Luke turned away and squirmed through the crowd.

  
The next man to approach him was a bit younger than the first. His curly brown hair was caught back in a loose ponytail. “Hey pretty.” He ran a finger down Luke’s cheek. “I like your mouth.”

  
“Subtle,” Luke sneered. He thought his tough-guy façade might be somewhat undermined by his make-up, but at least his jibe had the desired effect.

  
The man’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Or maybe I _don’t_ like your mouth.” He grabbed Luke’s wrist. “Come with me, baby. I’ll beat that sass right out of you.”

  
“Fuck off.” Luke shook off the man’s grip and darted off into the crowd again. He looked around for Sylar, but he didn’t see him anywhere. Sylar couldn’t have left. He _wouldn’t_ have left. Luke wondered why the hell Sylar had brought him here if he was going to have to fend off advances all night. Unless… Unless he wasn’t supposed to fend them off.

  
Luke pressed himself into a dark corner by the disused stage and stared out at the crowd of men. Sylar was nowhere in sight. He _must_ have known what kind of a place this was, and what would happen to Luke on his own here.

  
Luke hadn’t thought Sylar was the type to share, but maybe this was a different lesson. Maybe Sylar wanted Luke to understand how little he mattered. Luke felt a seed of resentment start to take root in his chest. He didn’t need a reminder. Luke _knew_ he was worthless.

  
After all, Sylar didn’t even seem to want him. Sure, Sylar had given him the collar. He was teaching Luke. He gave him commands, and disciplined him when he disobeyed, but he didn’t seem to want Luke. He hadn’t _fucked_ Luke. Sometimes it seemed like he wanted to. Other times it seemed like Sylar didn’t even see him.

  
If Sylar didn’t want to fuck him, maybe he wanted to make sure Luke got fucked. So he’d thrown Luke to the wolves, dressed Luke up and taken him here, where someone would be happy to use Luke: take him, hurt him, fuck him. Someone here could do what Sylar didn’t care enough to bother with.

  
Luke swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. If that’s what Sylar wanted from him, then that’s what he’d do. He’d show Sylar he didn’t deserve to be tossed aside. He could do something useful. He could be _desirable_.

  
Luke went to the bathroom first. He looked in the mirror appraisingly. “Ugly,” he told his reflection. “Even with make-up.”

  
He wished he’d brought the tube of lipstick so he could reapply. Instead he got his hands wet in the sink and ran them through his hair, trying to style it in a semblance of sexy spikes with limited success. He pried a filthy quarter off the floor by the urinal and shoved it into the condom machine by the door. He slipped the two condoms into the waistband of his pants—there were no pockets—and headed back out to the dance floor.

  
Luke spent a few minutes hovering at the fringes of the crowd, trying to pick out the absolute worst of the lot. He didn’t want Sylar to think he was trying to replace him. He wanted Sylar to understand that there was nothing, _nothing_ he wouldn’t do if Sylar ordered it.

  
He spotted a pot-bellied bald guy with scuffed up jeans and a black tank top that revealed tattoos of spikes and roses running down his arms. Perfect. Luke pushed over until he could slide in front of the man.

  
“Hey,” Luke shouted over the music.

  
“Hey there,” replied the man, vaguely surprised. He looked around quickly, as if he didn’t expect Luke to be alone.

  
“Wanna fuck?” Luke said without preamble. His heart was hammering in his chest. He hoped Sylar was somewhere near, watching, and seeing that Luke wasn’t scared to do whatever was expected of him.

  
“What?” the man asked, rather stupidly in Luke’s opinion.

  
Luke stepped closer, clumsily leaning into the man. “Use me,” he said. “Beat me, fuck me, whatever. Right now.” _Before I lose my nerve,_ he thought.

  
The man finally seemed to get with the program, and a smile lit his craggy face. “You eighteen?” he asked.

  
“Sure,” Luke lied. He pulled the condoms out of his pants and held them up.

  
The man laughed, like he couldn’t believe his luck. He wrapped his meaty hand around the back of Luke’s neck and steered him toward the bathroom. Luke’s stomach clenched tight and he fought down bile. He could do this. He could do this for Sylar.

  
The bathroom seemed darker and grimier than it had when Luke was in here alone. The thumping beat of the music was somewhat muffled. The man backed Luke into a stall, smiling down at him like a demented child. “Want you on your knees first,” he said. Luke nodded.

  
Before he could move, the stall door burst open, sending him and his companion tumbling to the floor. Luke found himself pressed against the filthy tile, wedged between the toilet and the wall. Sylar loomed in the doorway. From this angle, he looked about ten feet tall.

  
Sylar reached down and grabbed the bald guy by the back of the shirt. He pulled him up to his knees only to slam the man’s head into the toilet seat: once, twice, three times in quick succession.

  
Luke stared as the man’s nose, obviously broken, poured blood. Luke’s eyes flicked up to Sylar, who was looking down at him with an unreadable expression. Sylar grabbed the man by the head again, and slammed his head into the toilet seat again, and yet again, until he went limp.

  
Sylar pulled Luke up by the arm and led him out of the bathroom.  
\--

  
Sylar hadn’t said anything. Not a damn word. Sylar was bloody, but he didn’t seem to notice. In any case, they were both getting soaked by the rain as they walked down the street.

  
Luke wasn’t dressed at all correctly for the weather. His already-clingy t-shirt was soaked through, and his leather pants were beginning to chafe. Luke rubbed his hands together, letting them warm up and start to glow. His clothes steamed as the microwaves burned water out of them. It didn’t help much, since the rain was still falling, but it made him feel better. He stopped shivering, at least.

  
Sylar shot him a sidelong glance as they hurried down the sidewalk. “Not on the street,” he snapped, and picked up the pace. Luke hurried to keep up.

  
There was no one else around on the street, but even if there had been, no one would have been paying attention to them. Any sane person would be indoors. Luke followed along miserably and wondered how long it would be until they stopped. Or at least until Sylar _said_ something to him. Something that wasn’t a rebuke.

  
At least Sylar seemed to have a destination in mind. He grabbed Luke’s wrist to pull him along, and Luke nearly slipped at the top of a set of concrete stairs leading down under the street. “Hey,” Luke protested, but Sylar was already leading him down the stairs to a locked grate. “Station’s closed,” Luke said.

  
Sylar rolled his eyes and fixed Luke with a look that made him feel very small. Sylar reached out and grabbed the bars. They melted into silvery liquid in his hands and ran down the stairs with the rainwater. Sylar gripped Luke’s wrist again, just above his leather cuff, and they were off.

  
The subway station—ostensibly closed for repairs but more likely abandoned to decay—was fairly dark. Small, dim bulbs placed every ten yards or so illuminated the tracks, but the platform itself was draped in shadow.

  
“What are we doing?” Luke asked. He half-heartedly tried to pull his arm out of Sylar’s grip, to no avail. “Train won’t stop here.”

  
Sylar swung Luke around by his arm: his back slammed into the brick wall next to the stairs. Sylar grabbed Luke’s jaw. For a moment there was no sound except the constant rain splattering on the concrete outside and dripping, echo-y in the empty space.

  
It occurred to Luke then that this would be an excellent place to murder someone and stash their body. He felt an odd sense of relief. Sylar wasn’t going to abandon him after all; he was just going to kill him and take his power. Luke saw Sylar raise his right hand, and he closed his eyes.

  
Instead of the sharp, cutting pain he’d expected, he felt Sylar’s thumb brush the skin under his eye. “Your makeup’s running.”

  
Luke’s eyes snapped open. The dim light made Sylar’s expression look ghastly and mocking.

  
“Wha?” Luke asked cleverly.

  
“Guess it’s not the waterproof kind.” Sylar’s fingers smoothed away more of the running mascara.

  
Luke started to think maybe he wasn’t going to die tonight after all.

  
“Why did you even put this on?” Sylar asked.

  
Luke blinked in confusion. “You told me to,” he said slowly. In fact, Sylar had stood in the office supply aisle at Walgreens and told Luke to go pick out some make-up. Luke had gotten a hard-on looking at the dizzying selection of lipstick and speculating on why Sylar might want this, if it was for someone else or for Luke himself, if it meant Sylar wanted him to dress like a girl, and if he was going to get to have sex with Sylar.

  
Sylar knew this. He’d been there. He’d smirked at the bulge in Luke’s pants when he came to the counter and he’d paid for the lot with cash he’d stolen from a roadside diner. Sylar had _been_ there. He didn’t need to ask.

  
“Why did you dress like this?” Sylar snagged a finger in the belt loop of Luke’s pants and pulled them up sharply, trapping Luke’s balls with a painful pinch.

  
Luke gritted his teeth. Sylar knew this answer, too. He’d stood on the street eating a bowl of fro-yo while Luke had gone into a specialty shop and selected the outfit. He’d been such a dumb _kid_ to get so excited, thinking it meant something to Sylar, thinking he’d finally passed some sort of test. It was the collar all over again. Sylar _knew_ that, so what was with twenty question? Unless he wanted a different answer.

  
“I wanted to,” Luke said irritably. “I thought it was hot.”

  
“Uh huh,” Sylar said. He let go of Luke’s face and instead leaned a hand on his chest to pin him to the wall.

  
“I was bored.” Luke was being reckless at this point, he knew it, but he had no idea what the hell Sylar was trying to get at. He could get away with telling half-truths, although he never quite knew how much Sylar was able to interpret about his degree of truthfulness. “Bored and horny.”

  
“So you were going to let him fuck you.” Sylar sounded skeptical.

  
That pushed Luke into anger. “I’m not as innocent as you think,” he snapped. He cursed himself immediately when he realized how juvenile that sounded. “I know what I’m doing.”

  
“Really.” Sylar was obviously not convinced. “So you’re an expert at getting fucked.”

  
There was no right answer to that question. Luke settled for a quip. “Story of my life.” Then, when he realized how pathetic that sounded, he shoved a hand into the waistband of his pants and pulled out the strip of condoms to hold up. “I had protection.”

  
Sylar slapped Luke’s hand away, and the rubbers went skidding off into the darkness. “You were going to do it dry?” Sylar scoffed.

  
“Yeah,” Luke shot back.

  
“It didn’t occur to you that that might hurt.”

  
“Doesn’t matter.” Or at least it hadn’t mattered enough to stop Luke. He’d been hurt before, and he would be again. Sylar’s approval was worth a little pain.

  
“Don’t you know when to give up?”

  
“I’m a slow learner.”

  
“Obviously,” Sylar sneered. “They were going to eat you alive in there, looking like you did. You should have come to me for help.”

  
Luke’s heart dropped. He’d gotten it wrong. Now that he thought about it, he could guess what Sylar had envisioned: him crawling back to Sylar, frightened and a little bruised, begging for his protection. Another confirmation that Luke was weak and worthless. Another reason he was beholden to his master. Though Sylar was angry, Luke was perversely pleased, in some small way, that he’d surprised Sylar with the depths to which he was willing to sink without prompting. “I had it under control.” He tried to sound calm and aloof.

  
Sylar’s hand slipped form Luke’s chest up to his throat. “I know you didn’t _want_ to go with that man, so tell me why you did.”

  
Luke shrugged as best he could with his back pressed against the wall.

  
“Why would you do that?” Though his hand didn’t tighten around Luke’s throat, Sylar’s voice held a dangerous edge.

  
“I thought that’s what you wanted, okay?”

  
To Luke’s surprise, Sylar went very still. “What I wanted.”

  
“Yeah,” Luke said, puzzled. He went over the night’s events in his head once more, but it all seemed clear to him. Sylar had to have brought him there with a plan in mind. He’d told Luke to always have an objective, and if Sylar’s objective had been anything other than getting Luke fucked—in every sense of the word— Luke had no idea what it could be.

  
“You were going to let that man fuck you dry in a filthy bathroom because I wanted you to.”

  
“Yeah,” Luke said, but it came out sounding like, “Duh.”

  
Sylar shoved Luke against the wall so hard his head bounced painfully off the brick. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  
Unthinking, Luke shoved back, and his hands began to glow with heat. “What the hell’s wrong with _you_?”

  
Sylar’s mouth pressed into a grim, straight line. He took a step back and pulled something out of his pocket: Luke’s collar.

  
Luke let the glow die out of his hands.

  
Sylar waited a moment to make sure he was done, then stepped forward and clipped the collar around Luke’s neck. His hands stayed there, warm on Luke’s skin, while the patter of the rain reasserted itself.

  
“You will not do that,” Sylar said evenly.

  
“Not do what, sir?” Luke wondered if he meant using his powers. He could give up using his powers, if he had to. If Sylar told him to.

  
“You need to be more respectful of my things.” Sylar’s hands slid down Luke’s back to cup his ass. “You don’t have the right to give away what’s mine.”

  
Digging his fingers into the meat of Luke’s ass, Sylar pulled their bodies together. Luke could feel the bulge of Sylar’s hard-on nudge against his own. He let out a little exhalation of surprise, and his cock, already half-hard from the rough treatment, throbbed in anticipation.

  
“You will not let anyone else _fuck_ you.” Sylar spit the word like a curse. “Say it.”

  
Luke took a second to remember how to speak. “I won’t let anyone else fuck me. Sir,” he said breathlessly.

  
Then Sylar was ripping at Luke’s pants, clumsy in his eagerness. Luke moved to help him, and Sylar turned his attention to unbuttoning and unzipping himself. Before Luke could finish, Sylar flipped him around, shoving his face to the wall, and forcefully pulled down Luke’s half-undone pants.

  
Luke thought he might hyperventilate from excitement. Months of Sylar not doing this, and now Luke could finally have what he wanted. He’d done the right thing after all: passed one last test, proved his loyalty at last, earned his reward. He could hear Sylar breathing behind him, deliciously close, but for a moment, nothing else happened.

  
Then Luke felt Sylar’s fingers nudging at the cleft of his ass—God, Sylar was finally _touching_ him there. His fingers were cold and slick. “You don’t regenerate, Luke,” Sylar growled in his ear. He pressed two fingers in at once, and Luke tried to relax, let him in, make this easier. “You have to stop letting other people use you.” He screwed his fingers in deeper, and Luke stiffened at the burn of it.

  
“If you can’t take this, how were you going to take that man at the club?”

  
“I can take it,” Luke said quickly. He widened his stance and leaned forward to brace his hands against the wall.

  
“Liar.” Sylar added a third slick finger and shoved them all in to the hilt. Luke bit his lip to stifle a whimper.

  
“Stop it.” Sylar’s mouth was right beside his ear, and his voice was gentler now. “You’re not allowed to let yourself get hurt anymore. You’re mine.” His fingers slid out of Luke, and in the next moment Sylar was guiding him down to the floor on his back. The concrete was cold, and the damp seeped through his already-soaked shirt, but Luke didn’t care.

  
Luke couldn’t make out much in the near-darkness, but Sylar was pulling off Luke’s shoes, stripping off his pants so he could spread Luke’s legs and kneel between them. Sylar poured something on his hand—Had he been carrying lube all along? Had he planned this?—and his slick fingers nudged again at Luke’s ass.

  
This time Luke pulled his knees back and up, opening himself for Sylar.

  
“Yeah.” Sylar’s voice sounded shaky, and Luke felt a swell of pride to go along with the hardening of his cock.

  
“This isn’t your first time,” Sylar said.

  
Even if Sylar hadn’t been able to see through a lie, Luke didn’t have the spare mental capacity to think of one right now. “N-no, sir,” he stuttered.

  
“Who?” Sylar worked his finger back into Luke’s body, deeper this time. They brushed over something that made Luke’s hips jerk in reaction. He couldn’t think.

  
“I don’t know.”

  
“That’s a lie.” Sylar pushed his fingers past that spot. “Tell me how many.”

  
“Please,” Luke whispered. He didn’t have the spare brain power to work out the best thing to say. “Sir…” Luke canted his hips, trying to get that feeling again, but Sylar pulled his fingers out almost all the way.

  
“How many?”

  
Luke made another fruitless attempt to take more of Sylar’s hand, but Sylar was having none of it.

  
“How many?” he prompted.

  
“One,” Luke said softly.

  
Sylar slid his fingers back in, and Luke sighed at the pleasure: no burn at all, now.

  
“Who?” Sylar demanded. He wrapped his free hand around Luke’s cock.

  
Luke broke into a low chant of “Ohgodohgodohgod” as he tried not to come right then.

  
“Who?”

  
“Some guy,” Luke temporized. Not a lie. Not any information at all, really.

  
Sylar pulled his fingers out, but kept his grip on Luke’s dick. Luke shuddered when he felt the heat of Sylar’s cock pressed to his asshole. “You want this?”

  
“Yeah.” Luke swallowed hard. “Yes sir.” He wished there was more light; he wanted this moment seared into his memory.

  
“Then tell me who,” Sylar said. He nudged his hips forward, just bumping his cock against Luke’s hole, not penetrating, not doing what Luke _needed_. “Who was he to you?”

  
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.” Luke slapped the hard floor with an open palm. The pain distracted him from the exquisite torture of Sylar’s hand squeezing his dick, of Sylar’s cock teasing his ass. “Please. Just … Please.”

  
“What was he? Tell me.”

  
Luke tried to squirm, but a firm grip on his dick stilled him. He needed Sylar to get on with it. He didn’t want to be thinking about this now. He wanted Sylar, only Sylar.

  
“Tell me,” Sylar demanded.

  
“Baseball coach,” Luke said finally. The absolute truth. Fear laced through his haze of arousal. He was sure Sylar was going to stand up and walk away.

  
For a moment, Sylar said nothing. Then, “How young?”

  
Luke closed his eyes. “Young.”

  
“Never again.” Sylar reached up and smoothed Luke’s damp hair out of his face. Luke opened his eyes to see Sylar’s unexpectedly tender expression. “From now on, no one else.”

  
Sylar pressed forward, slipping into Luke with patient slowness. Luke took quick, shallow breaths. It stretched, and it stung, but he was leaking pre-come all over his belly. His whole body felt boneless, entirely relaxed, except for his cock, which was throbbing with heat. Sylar kept going, further and deeper, filling Luke up and fitting in like a missing puzzle piece. It had been worth it all, worth every thing he’d done, to be rewarded with Sylar giving him this.

  
When Sylar was all the way in, he leaned over Luke, bracing a hand on either side of him. “I’m going to find him,” he said intently. “The one who touched you before. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to slit his throat, and you’re going to watch.”

  
Luke thought that must be the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him.

  
Sylar pulled out a little way, then slid back in slowly, leisurely fucking Luke like they were on a soft bed with silk sheets instead of an abandoned subway platform. Sylar reached a hand up to brush against Luke’s collar. “You’re mine,” he said. He snapped his hips forward, brushing over that spot again, and Luke’s mouth fell open. “Beautiful and mine.”

  
A rumble sounded in the distance: only just audible over the rain, but getting louder. Sylar sped up his pace. Luke braced his feet on the floor and pushed his hips up for a better angle. Suddenly, Sylar’s cock was dragging over that spot with every thrust.

  
“Shit.” Luke bit back the word and gritted his teeth against the pleasure rolling through him.

  
“Mine,” Sylar said again.

  
The rumbling was getting louder, and now a train whistle echoed down the tunnel as well. Luke fumbled to grab his cock, and he jerked it in time with Sylar’s thrusts. Light was approaching, somewhere off to the left. It threw some of the shadows off of Sylar’s face, and Luke caught a rare glimpse of him: eyes closed in pleasure, expression open and approving. Happy.

  
Luke shuddered in pleasure as the train thundered through the dark station, blotting out the sound of the rain, their breathing, the slap of skin on skin: everything. Sylar kept moving inside of him, his touch more intense and powerful than the vibration of the platform, the flash of lights, the deafening clatter of the track. He thrust once more deep inside Luke and stayed there. Luke thought he might have shouted something, but he couldn’t hear for certain.

  
When the train finally passed, rattling off down the tunnel, Sylar gently pulled out and sat back on his heels.

  
Luke lay still a moment, recovering, and then took Sylar’s offered hand to help himself up.

  
They both stood straightening their clothes a moment in the resurgent darkness and silence. Luke squirmed back into his too-tight pants and slipped on his wet shoes. When he stood up, Sylar was looking at him.

  
“I meant it,” Sylar said softly. “You belong to me.” He stepped up to Luke and claimed a rough, sloppy kiss before pulling away again. “You let anyone else hurt you, and they will die a slow, painful death. Understand?”

  
Luke nodded. He felt a bright, warm glow inside that had little to do with microwaves and might even, he thought, be something like love. “Yes sir,” he said.

  
“Let’s go home.”

  
Side by side they went up out of the darkness and into the night.


End file.
